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<title>Not Drinking Alone by Aithilin</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073609">Not Drinking Alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin'>Aithilin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:53:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Noctis makes due with the means to give his sick boyfriend some medicine.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Drinking Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompted at my Tumblr</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why don’t you have anything to measure with?”</p>
<p>Noctis liked to think that he was familiar with the small kitchen of Nyx’s apartment. The bulk of the cupboards filled with collections of seasoning, dried goods, and the odd collection of cans and tins of things that generally sat untouched for years. A set of mismatched plates and mugs that the Glaive seemed to have collected through the years from friends and in small batches was scattered across two dusty cupboards; only those in most use clean as they were taken for meals from the drying rack and never seemed to find their way back to the piles. Drawers— where Noctis knew he had tossed the little measuring spoons and bulkier measuring cups Ignis had ensured he had in his apartment— were filled with cutlery, tea towels, and a handful of things that seemed to just have nowhere else to go. Noctis closed each drawer as he opened it, already frustrated as he searched for some familiar little measuring spoon. A measuring cup would do in a pinch.</p>
<p>“Never needed it before.”</p>
<p>When Nyx cooked, it was as if on instinct. Dashes of spices from the jars and containers with barely legible labels; dousing pans in oils and liquids he seemed to know by the weight of the bottle alone; marinades devised by smell and touch and the gentle prodding at untimed intervals until some innate instinct or well-trained habit told him that the meal was ready. Now that Noctis searched through every trinket and half-labelled tin of spices Nyx kept close at hand, Noctis was amazed that he was even still alive with the trust he placed in those instincts. </p>
<p>“I’m buying you a damn set of measuring spoons, hero.”</p>
<p>The shot glasses would do for now. Noctis placed two down on the counter and considered his options, fully aware of the dazed, curious look coming from his sick boyfriend in the bed. </p>
<p>Nyx had been in a haze since the weekend. </p>
<p>The covered sneezes passed off as allergies. The fits of coughs coming heavy and hard and sudden until the Glaive was red and gasping, waving off offers of water with a choked out “dry air, that’s all.”</p>
<p>By the time Noctis had texted Ignis the worrying list of symptoms, Nyx had refused to leave the warmth of bed. Warm to the touch, Noctis had hovered in concern when Ignis answered his summons and trained an expert eye over the feverish Glaive. Declaring the whole horror nothing more than an ill-timed cold, a bottle of cold and flu medicine was delivered within the hour. Along with enough canned soups and fresh veggies— Noctis assumed were supposed to help, and not poison— to feed a small army. Or a single sick and whiny Glaive. </p>
<p>Shot glasses down, Noctis used the cap to measure out the dose recommended on the entirely too cheerful and reassuring bottle. </p>
<p>“I’m not drinking alone, little star,” Nyx groaned, pushing himself up the wall until he was sitting. Blanket pooled in his lap, Noctis knew that he was going to need to figure out laundry at some point. </p>
<p>“You’re not,” Noctis smiled, and poured a shot of orange juice for himself before he offered the medicine to Nyx. </p>
<p>“A shot glass?”</p>
<p>“You don’t have anything else.”</p>
<p>Nyx shrugged and downed the syrupy medicine with a grimace when the taste of it hit the back of his throat. “Specs must hate me.”</p>
<p>“The bottle said it was grape.”</p>
<p>“No grape in the world tastes like that.”</p>
<p>Noctis grinned and took his own shot of orange juice before setting the glasses aside before climbing into the bed. He settled on Nyx’s lap, facing the Glaive and reaching up to feel his forehead as Nyx’s hands settled on his hips. “Not drinking alone, right?”</p>
<p>“Not quite what I meant.”</p>
<p>“Just get better. I suck at this whole nurse thing.”</p>
<p>“You give me shot glasses of medicine, I think you’re doing great.”</p>
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